


Peftastéri (Original Version)

by Phiso



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, M/M, Magic, Trench Warfare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24715336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phiso/pseuds/Phiso
Summary: Remus Lupin joins the Levanian Army as a soldier, hoping that, if nothing else, he'll die with a full stomach. One night, he accidentally saves a falling star known to humans as Sirius. Bound by magical contract, Sirius vows to stay by Remus's side until he can return the favor, which quickly becomes a pain for both of them. At first.
Relationships: Caradoc Dearborn/Marlene McKinnon, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. In Which Remus Takes A Train, Eats Dinner And Lays In A Bed

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published during the RS Games 2015 on LiveJournal as an entry for Team Moon. As I understand LJ is not the place it used to be, I've decided to repost it here in its original format. I'll be posting once a week until the story is complete.
> 
> The "Extended Version", which I will be working on slowly, will include changed names and additional subplots that may change the ending. If you're interested in that, feel free to look it up! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the original tale of Peftastéri. :)
> 
> \------
> 
> Original Notes: I cannot thank my betas enough: G, M, A, and K were all absolutely vital in this process, and without them, this wouldn't have turned out the way it did. (It'd also have way more adverbs and comma splices.)  
> ioncept! I hope it lives up to your expectations.
> 
> This story borrows from many others aside from Harry Potter. I shall list them here to give credit where credit is due: Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones; The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry; The Little Princess as directed by Alfonso Cuarón; and, of course, Stardust by Neil Gaiman.
> 
> Prompt: #48 – "A philosopher once asked, 'Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?' Pointless, really...'Do the stars gaze back?' Now, that's a question." - from the movie Stardust

"Father, how did you become a wizard?"  
  
For four-year-old Remus, there was no better place in the world than his father's workshop. It was a wizard's space, and every time he went in, he made a beeline for the empty stool beside the worktable, eager to see what his father was working on. The blackwood shelves lining the walls made the room seem smaller and darker than it really was despite all the large windows, but Remus felt this just made the workshop seem cozy and safe. He also loved the way the white afternoon light streamed in, hitting the metal instruments and glass containers on the shelves and causing splashes of color to appear sporadically around the room.  
  
Remus got a good grip on the tall stool by his father's work table and tried to scramble up. His feet had just gotten some purchase on the second rung when his father chuckled and lifted him up, placing him squarely on the seat.  
  
"Careful now, Remus, you don't want to fall," Remus's father cautioned as he returned to fiddling with a strange metal contraption that was lying open on the table. It looked like a bronze globe with a wide, open mouth. "It’s a long way down."   
  
"I won't," Remus assured him, delicately brushing invisible dust off his lap. There was a bright orange splash of light on his thigh, and he traced it out with a finger, contemplating the question that had driven him to the workshop in the first place. "Father, how did you become a wizard?"  
  
"Well," said his father thoughtfully, picking up some pliers, "it was at once both very simple and very difficult."  
  
"How was it both?"  
  
"Well," his father grunted, trying to pull something out of the machine, "it was very simple, because once I knew I wanted to become a wizard, I started becoming one."  
  
"Oh." Remus pondered this, watching as a series of green spots danced on his father's arm as he worked. "What was the difficult part?"  
  
"Actually learning how to become a wizard." With a sudden jerk, Remus's father pulled out a severely bent gear, and he sighed in relief. "You have to be sure you want to be a wizard in order to be one."  
  
"Well, I want to be a wizard, too!" Remus declared, sitting up straighter. The movement caused a splash of blue to settle between his eyes. "As good a wizard as you!"  
  
His father laughed, setting the gear aside and ruffling Remus's hair. "And so you shall be."

  
  
\---

  
As the train left Jericho, the capital city in central Levana, Remus wondered what had happened to all of the more luxurious trains.   
  
The last time Remus had ridden a train he had been nine, back when his parents were still alive. They had ridden in fairly nice carriages when he was a boy, with drapes on the windows, carpet on the floor, and tables between the seats for writing letters or playing cards. He had liked trains and was always looking for excuses to travel on them, relishing the chance to explore the big, wide world outside of Jericho. They had never gone especially far – the furthest he’d ever been was a coastal city in the south, eight hours away by train – but his father had promised him new countries when he was older, strange lands filled with foreign tongues, strange foods, and new magic. Remus had spent hours looking over maps, considering their first excursion abroad, and had finally settled on visiting Terram, the massive country that met with Levana's northern and eastern borders. Terram’s capital city was going to be their first stop, but his father hadn’t lived long enough for that trip.  
  
This train wasn’t nearly as nice. There were no drapes, no carpet, and no tables, and at the end of the ride, there would be no museums or leisurely strolls. He was going to the Cochava training base, six hours northwest of Jericho and thirty minutes from a village with the same name. He’d be lucky if he was allowed to mingle with civilians at any point, let alone enjoy something akin to a day trip.  
  
It was a boring train ride; Remus spent most of it staring out the window and ignoring the stocky blond sitting beside him, who snored almost the entire ride. It began to rain halfway there, and by the time they arrived it was positively storming. Remus could barely make out the buildings through the sheets of rain. As he and his fellow new recruits disembarked and ran indoors, shielding themselves with their coats and bags, a roll of thunder rumbled so loudly he could feel it in his chest, sounding eerily like bombs going off in the distance.  
  
Remus would’ve felt ill-at-ease by the ominous arrival if he had been given any time to register the emotion; in that way, at least, the army’s need for efficiency served him. He and the other new recruits had been shuttled to a medical building, where they were made to strip down before being pricked and poked like prize pigs. The examination didn’t last long, and once he had filled his new, temporary trunk with his belongings he was sent to the mess in a new uniform.  
  
Dinner that night was a warm chowder that needed salt but was otherwise the best thing Remus had eaten in months. He didn’t speak much to the others at his table as they ate, preferring to savor every bite of his meal, and if he appeared antisocial, that was fine with him. He had learned to avoid growing too close to anyone, and now that he was going to war, he was especially cautious about it. Still, despite his best efforts to show he wasn’t interested – including sitting at the very edge of the table – the three young men sitting around him were particularly chatty, and were constantly trying to pull him into the conversation.  
  
"My dad was in the army when he was my age," the one by Remus said proudly, a skinny redhead with freckles and a rural Western accent so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. He looked to be about seventeen, and was one of the youngest recruits there. "My brother’s in it now, fighting on the eastern front, near Firdaus."  
  
"Firdaus?" A man with dark hair sitting across from the redhead whistled. He had impressive arms and a broad chest; Remus guessed he was in his late-twenties, and had spent a lot of time doing physical work. "You sure he’s still alive?"  
  
"‘Course he is," the redhead scoffed, brandishing his spoon so violently his elbow nearly hit Remus next to him. "Got word just this morning before we left, said they were gaining on those damn Terramish."  
  
"You think we’ll stay in the north, or do you reckon we’ll be heading east, too?" wondered the third, who Remus guessed was in his early twenties, like him. Seated beside the dark-haired man and across from Remus, he had light brown hair and a rather innocent face; Remus was surprised he’d volunteered for the army at all. He looked more like a schola\\. than anything else.  
  
"The east is a bit far for us, don't you think? They're not going to take us ten hours west when there's a perfectly good front here. Why d’you ask, Longbottom, eager for some bloodshed?" the dark-haired man asked with a grim smile.  
  
"Not really, Dearborn. I’m just here because my mother was about ready to ship me off herself if I didn’t get going," Longbottom answered. "She’s very patriotic, but she’s also getting sick; she can’t really leave home," he added sadly. "She’s not far from Firdaus, and I’d rather we stop the war before it gets to her."  
  
Dearborn clapped Longbottom’s shoulder. "She’ll be all right, you’ll see. And even if you can’t help her, I’m sure we can count on Prewett’s brother to help her out."  
  
"Damn straight," said Prewett heartily.  
  
"Frankly, I don’t care where they send me, so long as I’m not shot," said Dearborn. "Or blown up. Can’t really climb the ranks if I’m dead, now, can I?"  
  
"Ah, a career man, are we?" Longbottom said wryly.  
  
Dearborn shrugged and leaned forward onto his elbows, frowning into his chowder. "All I had back home was a job cleaning fish, and let me tell you, if I ever have to clean another fish again, I’ll scream. This chowder is about all I can take."  
  
And then, to Remus's great displeasure, Dearborn looked over at him. "And what are you here for?" he asked. It occurred to Remus that Dearborn had a coastal accent from the south, something very rough and gritty and very different from the crisp capital accent Remus had. Those from the coast and the capital didn’t often get along due to political reasons; he hoped Dearborn wasn’t one of the people who put stock in that sort of thing, as he looked to be the kind of man you’d never want as an enemy.  
  
Remus shrugged noncommittally, focusing mostly on his food. Maybe if he didn’t speak, they’d leave him alone.  
  
"What, cat got your tongue?" Prewett grinned. "Or just scared stiff?"  
  
Longbottom leaned forward, frowning slightly. "No, I don’t think he’s scared. Not of us, anyway."  
  
"You guys aren’t my biggest concern right now," Remus finally said, knowing as he said it that it would beg a follow-up question he didn’t want.  
  
"What’s that supposed to mean?" scowled Prewett.  
  
"I’m just focused on not dying. Chances are, one of us might make it out alive, maybe. The rest of us are dead," Remus said, his eyes trained on his soup and his voice louder than he intended. "So what’s the point in making friends?"  
  
There was a deep silence following these words; it felt like the whole mess had heard him. Remus’s face burned.  
  
"Blimey, barrel of laughs, aren’t you?" Dearborn muttered. "Why’re you here, then, if you’re so convinced you’re just going to die alone?"  
  
Remus forced himself to swallow his last mouthful of soup before answering: "Because if I’m going to die alone anyway, it’d be nice to die with a full stomach. That wasn’t going to happen back home."  
  
"Yeah, well," Dearborn said darkly, turning back to his meal, "better hope the rations keep up, then."  
  
Dinner ended soon after and without further incident. Most of the men used the little free time they had before lights out to write quick letters home, assuring their loved ones they had arrived safely, but Remus didn’t have anyone to write to, so he simply got ready for bed. Before he went to sleep, however, he pulled a notebook made of very worn, deep mahogany leather out of his trunk.  
  
Remus hadn’t brought anything to write with, but that served him just fine. The notebook was almost full anyway, filled with notes and diagrams. He flipped through the pages slowly, reading words he had already memorized, taking in the ink and the cadence and imagining his father’s voice reading the words to him. It had been thirteen years since Remus had last heard his father, though, and every day it was becoming harder to remember what he sounded like.  
  
Time passed faster than he expected, and soon someone was calling lights out. As people rushed to their beds, Remus hastily put the journal back in his trunk before laying back in his sheets.  
  
Remus had forgotten what it felt like to lie down in a bed, and while this was really just a cot, it was a thousand times better than what he usually slept on. He relished the feeling of both support and give from the mattress beneath him, and the pillow beneath his head felt almost criminally soft. Remus let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he closed his eyes. He tried to remind himself that he was going to be going to the front soon, that even this wasn’t going to be permanent, but tonight, he didn’t care. Tonight, he wanted to pretend he was just like anybody else with a home and a warm bed. He wasn’t going to have opportunities like this for much longer.  
  



	2. In Which Remus Has A Very Long Night Indeed

Remus was fighting in a war and he didn’t know why.  
  
Well, he knew his personal reasons for fighting in the war: the Levanian Army guaranteed him clothes, a bed, food, and stipend for his service. There was also talk of a pension fund, but Remus didn’t want to get ahead of himself. No one who entered the front knew if they’d ever make it through the night, let alone the war.  
  
The cause of the war was debatable. Caradoc Dearborn said it was because of a missing royal, Fabian Prewett insisted it was because of a dead royal, and others still believed the royal was secretly alive and leading the front lines against Terramish invaders. Most, like Frank Longbottom, cared less about the royal and more about the invasion. Remus, for his part, could never quite get the royal straight. Was it the Prince? Some Duke or Duchess? Maybe an Earl of somewhere, he didn't know. He had always been far removed from such things.  
  
Remus’s world was completely separate from glittering jewels and aristocratic titles. Instead, his world was defined by what it was missing rather than what it had. He had no family, no money, and nowhere permanent to stay or work; something always happened, he would be fired or evicted, and he would have to start all over again. Everything he owned fit in the rucksack he had brought to camp, things that over the years he couldn't or wouldn't sell.  
  
It was just as well he didn’t own much, as in training camp, he barely used the things he already had. Every day, Remus would jerk awake before sunrise and hit the hay immediately after dinner, completely worn out. The hours in between were spent running around tracks, crawling through mud, reviewing protocol, and learning to how to use and service various types of guns. It was far more tedious than his life before camp, when every day was difficult in its own unique way, and Remus found that the novelty of having entire days planned out for you wore off quickly.  
  
Dearborn, Longbottom, and Prewett didn’t stop trying to be friends with him, and included him as often as they could. Remus was unconvinced anything more than a polite sense of camaraderie was necessary to get through training camp, so when they shouted encouragement or sat with him in the mess, he would accept it with maybe a nod but not much else.  
  
Basic training passed by alarmingly fast, the officials pushed by the pressures of war. Before he knew it, five weeks had passed, and they were being shipped off to the northern front, just northeast of Cochava. This train ride was shorter than the first and much more cramped, with hay-covered wooden floors taking the place of seats in the compartments. They were advised to get as much sleep as possible, but Remus found it nearly impossible to nod off for more than fifteen minutes at a time. If the noise didn’t keep him awake, the smell of body odor and cow dung did.  
  
The new camp wasn’t necessarily a camp so much as what appeared to be an abandoned village. Many of the buildings, Remus noticed, had roofs that had been burned down or stone walls that had collapsed. Still, there were some buildings in working order, filled with people rushing about. They arrived just in time for another round of medical examinations, rifle assignments, and a bowl of stew before they were ordered to "gather your things, we're moving out in five."  
  
Bewildered, Remus grabbed his meager possessions, wondering what they would be doing after nightfall. Then the answer hit Remus: they were entering the trenches.  
  
The trench entrance was a twenty minute walk from the camp, and fairly hidden; it was built into a hill, with the entryway held open by a wooden frame. The walk to the front itself felt like an eternity, and soon Remus wasn't sure what was worse, the destination or the journey. The communication trenches connecting the village to the front were underground, long and somewhat narrow; no more than four men could walk abreast, and everyone was rushing with things in their arms, hurrying to wherever they were going. Remus got at least three elbows in the side on his way to the support lines alone, but it was hard to care when he noticed the look of utter relief on their faces. Normally, he was fine in enclosed spaces, but it didn’t take long for claustrophobia to set in, especially when the lights on the walls flickered ominously. Soon, Remus was starting to hurry people along as well. He didn’t like it down here; it felt too easy for the walls to cave in and kill them all. The wood lining the walls didn’t seem strong enough to prevent much.  
  
The closer they got to the front, the wetter the ground became, leaking through the wooden floor panels until it got to the point where the wood ran out and the mud sucked at his boots, making it difficult to keep pace. A foul stench appeared as they walked, growing stronger as they got closer to the front. When Remus caught a glimpse of the sky near the end of the trench line he rushed forward, hoping to escape the enclosed space and get some fresh air. Instead, the smell hit Remus full-force, assaulting him with a myriad of terrible odors: sweat, human waste, cordite, and what he feared was the smell of rotting flesh. All this was layered beneath the smell of chloride powder, a desperate attempt to keep things clean that failed miserably. This heinous combination immediately made Remus gag, and his first thought was to pull a gas mask on. He quickly glanced at the others around him, his eyes watering, but seeing as no one else around him was bothering, he was forced to experiment with holding his breath, making himself dizzy. He wasn’t the only one, either; one of the other soldiers, a short thick fellow, nearly ran into Remus, he was so off-kilter.  
  
Remus only had a vague idea of where he was on the map. They had been given an introductory lesson on how the trenches were laid out at training camp, but he was finding it difficult to apply lessons he learned in the calm of a classroom to the chaos that was around him. It didn't help that the trenches became increasingly zig-zagged as the group moved forward, the sharp turns making it difficult to anticipate what was coming up ahead. Remus and many in his unit were ordered to split up just before leaving the support trench, but somehow, he found himself with Dearborn, Longbottom, and Prewett, among others. Eventually, at the order of a superior officer, he and his fellows stopped at the mouth of a narrow trench, panting and wide awake despite how high the moon was above their heads.  
  
"Welcome the front lines, boys," the superior officer said, a tall, bald, black man with a deep voice. "My name is Colonel Shacklebolt, and it is my greatest displeasure to be here with you tonight. If you are lucky and everything goes according to schedule, you will leave here alive and in five days. If you are not, it could take up to two weeks to rotate you out of the advanced line - if you leave at all."  
  
There was a hush at these words, despite all the bustle around them.  
  
"The path here will take you to the advanced lines," Shacklebolt continued. "You will be serving with a group of men who have survived these lines before. You will have a medic and a wizard in the support trench behind you ready to help, but do not rely on them; they’re covering multiple advanced lines at a time.  
  
"Tonight, your main objective is to watch for enemy fire; we’ve received reports that they are planning an assault sometime this week, though we cannot be sure if this will be from the ground or from above. Listen to the men who are already there; they will be your key to survival. Good luck."  
  
Shacklebolt then gave them a salute, which they hurriedly returned, before indicating with a jerk of his head that they were to move. Moving was the last thing Remus wanted to do, but unfortunately, Prewett was behind him, and he was shoved into the communication trench leading into the advanced lines.  
  
The walk to the advance line from the support trench was considerably shorter than the walk from the village, but it didn’t feel that way. Dread made every meter they travelled feel like five, but before Remus realized it, he was there.  
  
This trench, like many of the others they had passed through, was dug in a zig-zagging pattern that made it appear much shorter than it was. The ground beneath him was covered in wooden panels known as duckboards. The walls were so tall it was impossible to see over them without standing on the fire-step, a raised forward step dug a few feet above the ground. Stepping onto it brought a soldier eye-level with the edge of the trench, the sandbag parapets providing additional protection, and the barbed wire fence. The trench already had four men in it, two of whom were on the fiddling around with something along the front wall, one who was leaning against a wall of dirt checking his rifle, and one who was heading into a path to their far right.  
  
One of the men fiddling with the wall turned around when he saw the new men and stepped away from his task. He had dark hair, swarthy skin, and bright hazel eyes behind a pair of spectacles. "Welcome, gents," he said with a broad smile, "to the advanced lines of the Peftast Trench. I’m guessing the good Colonel already gave you something of a rundown?"  
  
Remus didn’t know what to say, and it appeared for a brief moment that none of the other men did, either. Dearborn spoke up after a beat: "Something like that. Told us we needed to keep watch for an attack?"  
  
The bespectacled man nodded. "Fletcher’s gone out to the forward listening post first. One of you lot can go next."  
  
"Wait, Fletcher went?" The redheaded man checking his rifle looked up in disgust. It looked like he had been trying to clean it, but had only succeeded in getting it muddier. "He’s a coward!"  
  
"Which is why he’s perfect for job," the first man explained patiently. "He’ll let us know right away if someone starts shooting at him."  
  
As the man with the rifle rolled his eyes and went back to his gun, the first man turned back to the Remus and the others. "My name’s Potter, by the way," he said. "Corporal James Potter, but we don’t bother much with the titles here, seriously. Ginger here is Lance Corporal Arthur Weasley. The bloke who’s not really paying attention to you right now because he’s refilling the ammunition shelf is Ted Tonks—"  
  
"Don’t ever call me Ted or I’ll stick a rat in your blanket," Tonks called over his shoulder in an easygoing voice.  
  
"- And the one who’s keeping watch is Mundungus Fletcher. And you lot?"  
  
"Caradoc Dearborn, said Dearborn with a nod. "Though you can call me Doc if you need me in a hurry."  
  
"I'm Frank Longbottom." Frank also inclined his head politely, touching the edge of his helmet as he did so.  
  
"Amos Diggory, at your service." Diggory, a broad, blond bloke who looked like he could excel at any sport, inclined his head at his words, and Potter followed suit. It struck Remus that he had sat beside Diggory on the train to the Cochava training camp.  
  
"P-Peter Pettigrew," stammered one Remus hadn’t even noticed was with them. He was blond, a bit on the pudgy side, and clearly terrified. Remus recognized him as the one who had run into him earlier.  
  
"Fabian Prewett," said Prewett, looking cautiously at the other redhead. Weasley looked up at the name and grinned.  
  
"Fab Fabian!" Weasley said. "Does Molly know you're at the front?"  
  
"Yes," snapped Prewett, the tips of his ears growing pink. "Of course she does."  
  
"And she didn't stop you?"  
  
"She's my sister, not my mother!"  
  
"You didn't tell her, did you."  
  
"L-listen here, old man – "  
  
"Whoa, what's this, now?" Potter asked, looking between the two. "What's going on?"  
  
"Fabian's my wee brother-in-law," said Weasley, winking at Prewett.  
  
"He married my sister," said Prewett, glowering at Weasley.  
  
"Good grief," groaned Tonks. "This'll be fun."  
  
"Interesting," noted Potter. "Good to know. I'll be sure to never put you two on duty together. And you?" Potter added as he turned to Remus.  
  
"Remus Lupin," said Remus, trying hard to ignore the looks Weasley and Prewett were sending each other.  
  
"Well, it’s nice to meet all of you," Potter said cordially, nodding his head. "Hope I still know you next week. Now, let’s get to work."  
  
It was a long and exhausting night, made worse by the rain that started around midnight, just was he was going to try and get a bit of shut-eye. Instead of a nap, Remus got to learn how to ensure the revetments were secure so that the trench didn’t cave in on them. Weasley was a good teacher, but it was clear he was exhausted, and Remus tried to compensate by using more of his energy, figuring he had more to spare than Weasley did.  
  
Near two, Remus went into the forward listening post after Pettigrew, who, according to Tonks, had spent half of his watch trying not to cry. Remus wasn’t particularly excited about the assignment either – the pitch blackness of the night coupled by the rain made it nearly impossible to see – but he stood there dutifully, occasionally pinching himself to stay alert.  
  
"You see anything?" Tonks asked Remus about halfway through his watch. Tonks was making sure the newcomers could do the job properly; after all, it wouldn’t do to die because a new soldier didn’t know what he was doing. He had a friendly demeanor and an easy way of speaking typical of Levanians from the western cities. Remus fervently hoped that Tonks wouldn’t die in this stupid war.  
  
"Not much," Remus admitted. "A cat jumped out of one of their support lines, but that was about it."  
  
Tonks raised his eyebrows. "You saw a cat?"  
  
"It didn’t have on a collar or anything, so I figured it wasn’t sending any messages," Remus said in a rush, worried he’d done something wrong. "I didn’t want to shoot a cat just because it was in the wrong place at the wrong time."  
  
Tonks stared at Remus. "How", he asked in amazement, "did you see anything out there? It’s pitch black on a good day. Well, night."  
  
Remus shrugged, unsure of how to respond.  
  
Tonks studied Remus for a moment. "We might need to switch you out for guard duty more often."  
  
Remus's watch ended around half past three, which was followed by half an hour of hunting the fat rats that were living in the trenches with them. Most of that time was spent with Prewett, trying to nab a particularly aggressive one by Potter and Weasley near the trench entrance. The moment they cornered the rat, two unknown figures appeared behind them, and Prewett, already quite shaken, immediately spun his gun at them. The two strangers quickly raised their hands, showing they were unarmed.  
  
"It’s fine, Fab, they’re ours," Weasley assured him, reaching over and pushing the gun down.  
  
"Lily!" Potter rushed forward and embraced one of them, who in turn let out a sparkling laugh. Encouraged, Potter lifted Evans up and spun her around, causing her helmet to fall off and show a splash of dark red hair and a huge smile.  
  
"It’s Evans when I’m on duty, Potter. I assume this means you boys are all right?" Evans asked as Potter put her back on her feet.  
  
"Not much has happened, other than rain," said Potter, beaming down at her. His arms were still wrapped around her waist.  
  
"And a cat," Remus mumbled to himself.  
  
"Brought the new witch," Evans said, nodding towards her companion. "Podmore’s got bad dysentery, I had to send him back to save him. McKinnon’s good, though, she was at the Lunmen Trench for three months."  
  
McKinnon, a tall brunette with a wicked smile, gave them a short but friendly wave. "Hey there."  
  
"And you," Evans continued, just as Pettigrew and Longbottom passed through, "have new men as well. I’m your medic, Lily Evans." Evans disentangled herself from Potter to offer her hand to Pettigrew, who was the closest. Pettigrew turned bright pink, but took her hand anyway.  
  
"P-Peter Pettigrew, at your service," he said.  
  
The other men introduced themselves, and the witch, Marlene McKinnon, did the same. As it turned out, McKinnon had to set their rifles with a new accuracy spell. Evans helped McKinnon, and together they worked quickly, walking through the trench taking care of everyone’s rifles.  
  
"It’ll make your rifle slightly heavier," McKinnon warned Remus as she sprinkled the spell dust into the barrels of his gun, protecting the powder with her hands so the rain wouldn’t get it too wet, "but don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. Your accuracy should go up at least two-fold with this, and I’ll come back with more this afternoon to get it up to three. I’ll see if I can whip up some drying spells once the rain’s gone, too. This mud is ridiculous."  
  
"I thought wizards only fought other wizards," Prewett said, blinking owlishly. He clearly hadn’t slept a wink all night. "Why are you in the trenches?"  
  
"Well, there’s those fights that cause storms and tidal waves and fire twisters that everyone likes to talk about in the papers, but that’s not all there is to it," McKinnon explained, tucking the last empty spell packet into her pocket. "You don’t think there’s a witch or wizard on the other side fitting their soldiers with spells of their own? I’m still fighting magic with magic here, and this version doesn’t hurt nearly as many civilians compared to the bombs and misplaced shields." She let out an irritated huff, and Remus was reminded of the stories of bombs sliding off their intended targets—palaces, government districts—and hitting civilian areas instead.  
  
Evans glanced at her watch. "All right, stand-to’s in five, we need to get going. Stay safe boys, all right?"  
  
"You take care of yourself, too," Potter said, his expression serious.  
  
Evans gave him a smile and a wink before heading out with McKinnon, delving into a rapid discussion about something they had to do next. Potter sighed as he watched them go, and Weasley shook his head.  
  
"About that time, boys, get ready," Weasley said, weighing his rifle in his hands. "Hm. It really is heavier."  
  
"What’s going on?" Pettigrew asked, eyes wide as he clutched his rifle.  
  
"Morning hate," Potter said grimly, checking his watch. "All right, let’s go. Up on the fire-step, and don’t get shot."  
  
Stand-to-Arms, or stand-to for short, had sounded like a fairly calm practice in theory: they would stand on the fire-step for an hour before dawn and dusk with their guns at the ready and wait to see if anything happened. Since both sides had stand-to at the same time, Remus imagined no one would dare attack at these times of day because the opposition would already be ready for it. He had naively imagined that it might even serve as a break from all the other laborious tasks he would need to perform.  
  
It didn’t take long for the delusion to shatter and for Remus to understand why Potter had called stand-to the "morning hate". Standing up against a dirt wall, bayonets fixed on their rifles, aiming squarely in No Man’s Land, was enough to drive anyone a bit mad after a sleepless night. His hands began to sweat as a strange, deathly silence fell over everything, different from the hushed, tedious quiet that had occupied most of the night. This was tense, like a bowstring waiting to be released, and Remus didn’t know if he wanted that tension released or not.  
  
Soon, Remus’s knees began to shake from exhaustion. He was convinced he was going to drop his rifle (which felt heavier by the second), cause a ruckus, and get them all killed. He kept forcing himself to concentrate, hyper-aware of everything around him for a few minutes, but then the fog of fatigue would creep back into his mind and he would have to fight for his focus again.  
  
It was during one of these fogs that a blast of machine-gun fire splattered over their heads, and Remus very nearly dropped his rifle after all; Pettigrew and Fletcher actually did. A panic seized Remus’s heart as his eyes quickly scanned the horizon, seeing nothing, before daring a look back at the support lines.  
  
"It was our side," Potter murmured from beside him. It looked like he hadn’t even been spooked. "Careful, they’re going to shoot back in a second."  
  
Even with the warning, Remus nearly had a heart attack when Terram retaliated, and he instinctively ducked behind the revetment, head spinning. The weight of being a soldier hit him for the first time and he felt very young and stupid for having chosen this path for himself. He wasn’t here for Levana, and he wasn’t here to die for anyone. So why was he here?  
  
Glancing over at the others, Remus saw that they’d also ducked, even Potter, though Fletcher and Pettigrew had actually fallen off the fire-steps, and Diggory and Dearborn were dragging them back up. Even though he was gasping for breath, Remus felt a little better. So he wasn’t being cowardly. That was a relief. And then he wondered why that mattered to him.  
  
After the showers of bullets over their heads, there was another deep silence, and Remus was sure his heart was going to burst out of his chest as he waited to see who would retaliate next. What would they do? More machine guns? Grenades? Spells? His grip on his rifle tightened as he forced himself to straighten up, and the fog that had threatened to overtake his mind was banished. He wasn’t here to die, and he needed to be awake in order to make sure that didn’t happen.  
  
But nothing more happened. Eventually, Evans came back, telling them to stand down and checking injuries. Remus had hoped that would have signaled the end of the day, that they could finally lie down and rest, but no, after breakfast, more tasks were given, more jobs had to be completed, and Remus, with his belly only half-full, felt confident that his decision to come for the promise of food was the stupidest decision he had ever made in his life.  
  



	3. In Which Remus Catches A Falling Star

The food wasn’t worth it. The food was far from worth it.  
  
These were the words Remus told himself every waking hour, a mantra that bogged Remus down like his wet boots. He spent a total of five days in the advanced line, where mercifully nothing more drastic than an exchange of machine gun fire happened. Gradually, his section was sent further and further back in the lines, until three weeks had passed and they were given a night off in a nearby village, which, like the trench, was named Peftast.  
  
The longer he was in the trenches, the more he understood the reason why Dearborn, Longbottom, and Prewett had all insisted on making friends back in training camp: it was hellish in there, and friends provided a much-needed respite from the fear, boredom, and exhaustion. The more Remus understood this need, however, the more he felt inclined to deny it, as what would he do if one of them died? Or worse, what if he had to choose between saving himself and saving one of them? It would be hard enough just knowing them as he did; being friends with them would have only made it worse, and he had had enough grief in his life already.  
  
Still, just like at Cochava training camp, despite his efforts, the men his section had taken to him, and he to them, and now they had arranged to go to Peftast together. Remus had been hesitant and tried to distance himself when they got off the trucks and started walking into the village proper, but to his amusement and annoyance they just caught up with him anyway. To make himself feel better, Remus told himself that he could always peel away once they found their destination, and anyway, he thought, they were helping cut the night breeze, which had been steadily getting chillier as the days had passed.  
  
"Ah, night on the towns are always my favorite," Potter sighed, stretching before conspicuously draping his arm on Evans’s shoulders. She rolled her eyes and wrapped her arm around his waist, and the two immediately fell into step together. Potter kissed her hair, which was pulled up in its perpetual bun, and Evans laughed.  
  
"What? You don’t like latrine duty days?" Dearborn said, sticking his hands into the pockets of his off-duty uniform. "Those are my favorite."  
  
McKinnon, keeping pace with Dearborn’s long strides despite the skirt and heels the women were required to wear, laughed. "Should I make sure you always get latrine duty, then?"  
  
Dearborn shot her a grin. "Nah, got to keep it rare, otherwise they won’t be a treat."  
  
"I think we’re here," said Potter, stopping in front of a bustling restaurant and bar. The door was open, and light flooded from the doorway and the enormous windows, illuminating the sidewalk and the tables full of patrons. Guitar and accordion music floated out, and the sound of laughter and clinking glass filled the air.  
  
"‘The Falling Star’," Dearborn read, looking up at the sign. "Well, this is where Frank said he’d be. Anyone see him?"  
  
"There he is," Evans said, using her grip on Potter’s waist to stabilize herself as she leaned out and up to get a better view. "He’s already inside by the bar with Peter. They got on an earlier trunk."  
  
As the group went inside, Remus was unsure if he should stick with them or not, but when Dearborn and McKinnon teamed up behind him to push him inside, he found himself helplessly herded in towards Longbottom and Pettigrew anyway.  
  
Remus quickly discovered that he was bad at socializing at bars. The long wooden bar made it difficult to see half of the people he was with, and while Dearborn and Longbottom had elected to stand in order to give the rest seats, it was a miracle if Remus heard half of what they said, what with the music and all of the conversations going on around him. Eventually, he stopped trying to answer or chime in and just people-watched, sipping his pint, eating his cheesy potatoes, and occasionally catching snippets of conversation here and there.  
  
Remus hadn’t been in a restaurant for over a year now, after breaking one too many glasses as a busboy. They were quite crowded and warm, just as he remembered, which was pleasant when you first went in to escape the chill but became a nuisance after about half an hour. At least, he mused as he sipped on a beer from his father’s home region, he wasn’t by himself. He wasn’t with friends, exactly, but he wasn’t alone, either. That was a strange but comforting thought.  
  
"None of us will survive this war," said a voice nearby, loud and less drunk than you’d expect, considering the hour. It belonged to a man in his thirties dressed in the same off-duty uniform Remus wore. "With the bombs coming from the north and the wizards closing in from the east, it’ll be a miracle if any of us are still around this time next year."  
  
"How d’you know bombs are coming at all?" asked the uniformed man beside him, who looked only slightly older than the first. "They said we was going to have an attack a month ago, and nothing’s happened. Sometimes I think them officers are just giving us work ‘cause they’ve got nothing better to do."  
  
"We’ve gots to be careful," said a third man in a slow voice, silencing the others around him. This man was older than any of the others; his hair was greying, his voice was gravel, and unlike most of them wasn’t wearing a uniform, but rather civilian clothes. "There are signs that tell you what’s to come, if you open your eyes to them. Keep an eye out on the sky; there’ll be stars falling tonight."  
  
Remus heard a chuckle from his right, and he turned to see Dearborn and Longbottom watching the same conversation.  
  
"What?" Remus asked.  
  
"The old man," said Dearborn, with a nostalgic look on his face. "He’s so superstitious."  
  
"Superstitious?"  
  
"There’s an old story in the east about falling stars," Longbottom said thoughtfully. "My gran used to talk about them every now and then. Said it was stars dying."  
  
"My gran used to say something else," said Dearborn, reaching over to grab his pint from the counter. "She said it was a sign that a person was dying. Though you’d think with this war, stars would be falling all the time."  
  
"A star fell, the night my father died," Remus said without thinking. "And my mother."  
  
Dearborn and Longbottom looked at Remus, who flushed, realizing what he had just let slip out.  
  
"Was it a star shower?" Longbottom asked, not unkindly.  
  
"No," mumbled Remus, pink. "They died on different days."  
  
"Well," said Dearborn, frowning into his beer, "maybe my gran was right, then. She was a witch, after all. Not a professional, a folk-witch, but she could charm a ship as good as any witch or wizard from the Academy."  
  
"My gran was, too," said Longbottom. "But she only knew as much as her mother taught her, and great-gran hadn’t known that much, either. They knew the spells that helped the plants grow, that’s about it."  
  
"And you? Any magical grandmothers?" Dearborn asked brightly, looking at Remus. His voice was almost a bit too cheerful, and Remus suspected he was trying to make up for the topic that they’d just touched upon. Too bad they’d just walked straight into it.  
  
"My mother’s side didn’t know any magic, but they knew stories," Remus said, eyes fixed on his drink. "Stories about things like falling stars and how to catch them. My father, though, my father was a wizard."  
  
"Your father was a wizard?" Pettigrew interrupted, barging into the conversation with wide, bloodshot eyes. He said it loud enough to catch the attention of James, Lily, and Marlene, and Remus turned bright red. "Are you a wizard, too?"  
  
"No," said Remus, feeling uncomfortable.  
  
"Why not? Didn’t he teach you? Or is he fighting in the war, too?"  
  
"No," Remus said bluntly, feeling everyone’s eyes burning into his skin. "My father’s dead."  
  
Pettigrew blanched. "Did he die in the war? Mine did, he—"  
  
"Excuse me, I need to go," said Remus in a clipped voice, standing as he set his drink down. He pushed his way through the crowd and out of the bar, ignoring Pettigrew's apologies behind him. Remus knew in the back of his mind that this was rude, that Pettigrew wasn’t trying to be insensitive, that he’d known loss too, but right now, all Remus wanted to do was push Pettigrew into the latrine, and that sort of emotion wouldn’t do in a crowded restaurant.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
"Lupin!"  
  
"Remus!"  
  
Remus didn’t know who was calling him, but he didn’t much care. He had opened up to them without meaning to, and now he was suffering for it. Stupid decision, that was, opening his mouth. Now he was thinking about things he hadn’t wanted to, not tonight, not on his night off.  
  
Remus was so lost in his anger, it took a drunken shout to his left to snap him out of his dark thoughts. It was just a group of strangers leaving one of their homes, but the noise made Remus realize that he had been walking without watching where his feet were going, and now he was very much lost. How was he going to get back?  
  
Sighing, he walked to the end of the street and sat on the curb in front of a closed cafe, looking up at the stars. The buildings around him were tall, old, and elegant, all of them made of the region's famous white stone. Even the lamps on this street gave off a white light rather than a yellow one, and made everything seemed grey except the deep blue-black of the night sky. Everyone here was asleep, and now that the group of strangers had gone, it was quiet.  
  
Peftast. It was a sweet little city his mother had told him about as a child, a city as white as starlight. Her grandmother had been born here, she told him, and she had lived there as a child and teenager. Maybe one day they could go visit, she had suggested, once his father had time again, once all those wars were over.  
  
A hard lump settled in Remus's throat, and he swallowed hard, trying to will it down. Leaning over and hanging his head, he sighed, his heart sore and wretched. He hadn’t imagined he would end up here during the war. It seemed like an insult to his mother’s memory now that he had.  
  
Remus didn’t have very much. He had no friends, and no real home. He had lost his father to a drunken wizard with far too much money and far too little compassion; he had lost his mother to her grief. He had shut his magic away in fear and anguish, and now he was doing the exact opposite that his father had wanted for him. If his parents could see him now, they’d be so disappointed in him. Even the stars, he bet, would find him too pathetic to watch.  
  
And then, as he glanced up at the stars, he saw one quiver and fall.  
  
Sitting up straight, Remus’s eyes grew wide as he recalled the words from the restaurant. When you see a falling star….what dies? He could never remember the proper story, the story his mother had told him, but before he realized what he was doing he was up on his feet and running, following the star to wherever it was going.  
  
Catching fallen stars was a witch or wizard's business, he remembered his mother saying. It was difficult and dangerous; not just anyone could do it. But if you managed it, you would receive a gift. Or was it a granted wish? How did you catch one, anyway?  
  
It didn’t look like it was going to land anywhere nearby at first, but Remus kept running anyway, hoping that he could catch it even though he wasn't a wizard. Maybe he was afraid the star was going to die; maybe he was afraid he was going to die. Maybe he thought it was a gift from his mother, or his father. Maybe, maybe, maybe; he didn’t know anything but maybes, and every one of them made him run even faster. He saw it lowering ahead of him, a white light appearing to slip slowly between two streets, but Remus knew the speed was an illusion, and he put everything he had left into this last sprint, hoping beyond hope that he might catch up to it.  
  
Finally, he turned onto the correct street, and he was right, it was going much faster than it looked. The white streak was speeding down to the ground, and Remus held his hands out, eyes locked on his target.  
  
I’m not going to make it, he thought, his heart beating frantically. I’m not running fast enough.  
  
With one desperate jump, he catapulted himself forward, felt a warm glow in his hands, and was suddenly submerged in water.  
  
Shocked by the sudden cold, Remus desperately kept his hands as high up as he possibly could, not wanting to drown the star, if such a thing was even possible. The water was surprisingly deep, making it easier to float, but it made getting upright a challenge. He scrambled up as fast as he could, panting as he stood up in the cold night air, the fountain water lapping up past his knees. Droplets dripped from his hair over his face and hands, but all Remus cared about was keeping the star he was holding dry.  
  
It fit perfectly in his palms, a white soft glow illuminating the darkness around him. It didn’t weigh anything, really, but it was very warm.  
  
"You all right?" he asked, still catching his breath, unsure of why he was talking to it but feeling it was the polite thing to do.  
  
There was a brief silence before the light pulsated weakly and said in a small voice: "I don’t want to die."  
  
Remus’s jaw dropped. "What?"  
  
"I don’t want to die," it cried, pulsating stronger this time. However, after the pulse, its glow weakened, and some of the warmth in his hand diminished.  
  
Remus began to panic as he realized that Longbottom’s gran had been right after all, and the star was dying in his hands.  
  
"Are you a wizard?" the star asked hopefully.  
  
"N-not really," Remus said, the heat rising to his face as he struggled towards the edge of the fountain. "I never learned much aside from basic spells…."  
  
"But you must be!" the star cried. "You couldn’t have caught me if you weren’t a wizard!"  
  
"How could I be a wizard, I never went to the Academy, I don’t know anything, I’m just a useless—"  
  
"Please, save me," the star whined pitifully. "Give me something, anything, just keep me alive!"  
  
"But what do I give you?" Remus asked as he awkwardly climbed out of the fountain without using his hands. He looked around for help, but no one was around in the square. All the shops and restaurants were closed.  
  
"Something valuable," the star said immediately. "What about your eyes? Or your heart? I can teach you a lot for your heart."  
  
"I’m not giving you my heart, I need that!"  
  
"Please, give me something," the star wept, and the glow diminished drastically, frightening Remus. Was he really going to let the star die?  
  
Finally, at a loss, Remus squeezed his eyes shut and brought the star up for a kiss.  
  
At first, it felt like there was just warm, fizzy air around his mouth, but it slowly grew more solid until it felt like he was actually kissing someone. Opening his eyes, Remus jumped back in shock when he realized he _was_.  
  
Standing before him was a beautiful young man with dark hair and glowing grey eyes. He seemed to give off a light of his own and illuminated the space around him like a candle. He was dressed in the same khaki off-duty uniform as Remus, and he was eying Remus with an odd curiosity.  
  
"Interesting gift," said the young man, lazily studying Remus’s face.  
  
"I - who are you?" Remus stammered, at a loss.  
  
The young man studied him a moment longer before bowing. "Thank you for saving me," he said. "What do I call you?"  
  
"R-Remus." What was going on? Where did he come from – wait. "Are you the star?" Remus blurted out.  
  
"Thank you, Remus the Wizard," said the star, putting on a lofty voice, "for saving my life. Our contract is only short-term and will not come with any exchange of power, as I was not given anything tangible, but rest assured, I will repay you before ascending." He let out a sigh and slouched a bit, appearing impatient. "That should cover it, right?"  
  
Remus gaped. "What?" he said stupidly. "What are you talking about? What exactly did I give you? And what contract?"  
  
"I don’t really know the word for what you gave me," the star said as he took stock of his new form; he seemed to be testing his fingers out by wiggling them in front of his face and making fists. "I only just got here, after all. It’s a very human thing, if that helps, and valuable, obviously."  
  
"A kiss?" Remus blinked. "Well, it can be, I suppose—"  
  
"The action was the mechanism through which the exchange was made, but it was not the gift itself," said the star in the lofty voice again, almost as if he was reading a manual. It went spectacularly with the look of vague boredom on his face. His hands were now patting his body, examining the clothing he wore. "The contract itself, of course, is one of equal exchange: you saved my life, and so now I shall not leave your side until I save yours. So, I don’t know" – his lofty tone abruptly cut off like a record player– "jump in front of something big, I’ll make sure it doesn’t squish you, and then I can go. What am I wearing? Or we, rather, since I copied what you’re wearing."  
  
"It’s a," Remus started, swallowing nervously before continuing, "an off-duty uniform. I’m a soldier."  
  
The young man looked up sharply. "I thought you were a wizard."  
  
"Didn't you hear me? I said I was useless, I barely know the basics—"  
  
"I was dying, I wasn’t listening to what you were saying!" The star groaned loudly as he threw his head back. "Great," he grumbled up at the sky. "I’m stuck with a hack-wizard-wannabe who’s busy shooting at nothing." He righted his head and peered at Remus suspiciously. "Are you in the front lines? Does the enemy shoot at you often?"  
  
Remus threw his hands up in exasperation, scattering droplets of water. "Sure," he said, not knowing what else to say but already irritated. "Though I don’t know how you plan to stick around me long enough to achieve that. I’m in the _army_ , they know who’s supposed to be there already."  
  
"You’d be surprised at how little people pay attention," said the star, waving off Remus’s concern with a hand. "Besides, I’m a star—just because you’re magically inept doesn’t mean I am."  
  
"I caught you, didn’t I?" Remus snapped.  
  
"Well, that you did," the star sniffed.  
  
Remus fumed, evidently stuck with this abrasive companion. He shivered violently as a chill breeze pressed his freezing clothes against his skin and soured his mood even further. "And what do I call you, then?" he asked, running out of things to say. He began trying to squeeze the water out of his sleeves, feeling like a fool. "I can’t just call you ‘mate’ all the time, and ‘star’ isn’t going to work."  
  
The star thought for a second. "I believe the name your people have for me is Sirius," he said, "so call me that. Sirius."  
  
"You’re going to need a surname," mused Remus. His eyes flickered up to Sirius’s hair. "Black. That works. Sirius Black. You all right with that?"  
  
Sirius shrugged. "Fine with me. And your surname?"  
  
"Lupin."  
  
"Remus Lupin the Hack Wizard," said Sirius.  
  
"Please stop calling me a wizard," sighed Remus.   
  
"The Hack, then, for short."


End file.
